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Translated from the Hindi by Rituparna Mukherjee

Guests in a city are more hindrance than happiness.

As soon as Rachna bought milk packets from the store and turned, she was shocked. She spotted Sunil Bhaiya and Sudha Bhabhi, close-knit friends of her parents, standing outside an apartment building in corner of the street with their children and a suitcase, asking directions from the old landlord, showing him something scribbled on a piece of paper. It was clear they were searching for her house.

Rachna’s heart began hammering inside her chest. She hid her face pulling the cloth over her head and with fast feet crossedher lost, close acquaintances from her hometown, who were looking for her house.

She unlocked the door to her small, two-roomed LIG flat, entered the kitchen and put the milk to boil in a saucer on the gas. Drinking chilled water from a bottle in the fridge, she pondered about the sky-high prices, her husband’s run-of-the-mill lawyer job, the monthly EMIs of home loan, and guests that skewed the budget! Their LIG flat seemedstuffed to the brim just with the three of them—husband, wife and their young daughter. And if a few guests came over to stay, the environment of the flat changed entirely. Her husband irritated, her daughter piqued and she herself embarrassed by all this.

… Rachna, hiding her husband’s ire!

… Rachna, spending her little savings on hospitality!

… Rachna, balancing and adjusting her family’s and guests’ convenience and inconvenience!

… Rachna, demonstrating to her guests the small triumphs of her penury-stricken life!

… Rachna, confounded, saddened, restricted!

…That was it! Rachna didn’t want to extend her hospitality anymore, not even once!

She turned off the gas as the calf’s milk didn’t boil over. Locking her flat, she thought that her guests would look at the locked door, wait for an hour or two and then surely leave. But where could she spend these two hours? She usually didn’t visit, or shall we say, could not go to anyone’s home for a chat.

Lower-middle class wives in this city, who came from small towns, led lives of warriors. Each day brought a new battle… fighting each day to save every paisa… struggling to gather small happinesses…competing to learn the selfishness of the urban life…the task of suppressing small-town traditions within oneself…and battling to cover one’s deprivations! And these small-town women yearned to discuss their bloodied triumphs with their neighbours, sitting in their company, sharing their ordinary happiness over smiles. The wives dwelling in this many-storied apartment and others like it in the vicinity, got out every evening, before their husbands made their way back home, and walked the streets in front of their indistinguishable apartments with their children and shared with one another their deeply personal stories, their unspectacular achievements, their insignificant brags that were aimed at pleasing themselves more than any listener. These were friendships of necessity, not affection, the desire to afford life just a little satisfaction.

Since she had to go somewhere, she found herself in front of Sakshi Saksena’s door, the fourth flat on the fifth floor of the apartment building across the street. Sakshi opened the door,

“Rachna! It’s you! What brings you here so early?”

The question had the distance of a brief acquaintance. Sakshi’s face had none of the familiar warmth of the evening walks where she discussed her husband’s flaws, her mother-in-law’s shortcomings, her son’s achievements in school or the generosity of her rich parents.

“How is it early? It’s already nine. Well, you complain every evening that I don’t come over to your house, so I decided to pay a visit today!”

“That’s alright, but this early? My husband hasn’t left for office yet.” She didn’t budge from the door.

“Oh, no problem, I’ll leave then.”

“We will go for a walk in the evening. Come out by six.” Sakshi’s voice suddenly had a touch of that known familiarity.

“Let me see. I have a lot of work at home today.”

Rachna felt bitter. She had invited Sakshi over to tea at her place thrice and that too with snacks and biscuits! How conniving were the people of this city! Her husband was correct in saying that she had not been able to leave her small-town ignorance behind.

Where could she go now? She stepped onto the street wondering about this.

“Rachna, you’re here? Meanwhile your relatives are standing in front of your flat. Where did you go so early in the morning?”

This was Manmohan Tiwari, the senior secretary of this apartment building’s cooperative society, who leered at young wives. All the women in the neighbourhood hesitated in approaching him because if one smiled and spoke to him once, he would arrive unannounced for tea, with some unsolicited claim, especially in the absence of the husband. Rachna hastened giving him a brief response.

She entered her apartment building half-heartedly but instead of entering her own flat on the fourth floor, she made her way to Malti Awasthi’s flat on the second floor.

Malti’s roots were in some small town as well and they searched for the warmth of their hometown in each other, cursing the deceiving ways of this city. The two of them would discuss issues like traditions of small towns, the cunning of mega-cities, its lowliness, their ignorance in being cheated or their good-heartedness or some such topic that would bring both some semblance of peace, using words akin to one another.

Malti smiled in happiness on seeing her,

“Arre Rachna! You’re here? It’s good that you have come. He has just left for office. My entire household is in disarray. There’s so much to do, yet just see how Meenu refuses to leave my lap. Will you look after her for some time? I’ll just take a quick shower in five minutes. Meenu dear, please go to Masi for some time.”

Malti swiftly went inside the bathroom handing her ten-month-old sweet, round child to Rachna. Rachna took the infant and placed her on her lap and gazed at the things strewn around the room. She really craved some tea.

After her shower, Malti quickly set about completing tasks around her house, sweeping the floor, then washing clothes.

“Malti, Meenu has soiled her clothes. Here, change her undergarments.”

“Rachna her clothes are kept in a small almirah inside the room, pick any under-pant and change her. I just have a few more clothes to wash, after which I’ll quickly do the dishes and then make tea for the two of us. We can drink tea leisurely after that. I barely get anything done with Meenu. Only when she’s asleep can I relax and eat or drink anything”, Malti said while beating the clothes with the thick stick in the bathroom.

Rachna felt that she was entirely foolish, and Malti? It wasn’t long that she had set foot in Delhi, and she’d already become this clever! Offering tea only when her visitor had managed her rotund child for almost an hour. I have been in Delhi so many years yet am I this conniving!

Rachna felt a bitterness here as well. Malti insisted on her staying, and she put away that bawling, wet, chubby child, gave some excuse and moved away from there.

“She thinks I’m a complete fool! I’ll take care of her young child while she quickly does her housework and sleep blissfully in the afternoon! Those days have passed when people could take me for a ride…but alas! When will I finish the jobs around my house? The bucket is full of clothes. The sink stashed with leftover utensils, and I also need to cook! I haven’t even had a cup of tea since morning. These wretched guests! Why do they arrive at my doorstep of all places?”

Rachna stood hiding herself behind a car in the parking lot, facing the wall. She would be able to spot when her guests left and then she could make her way into her flat.

She wondered how, how so many of her relatives got hold of her address? She had pleaded with her parents repeatedly not to tell others that their daughter stayed in Delhi, that too in a self-owned flat! This was Delhi! Everyone had some work here, sometime or other in their life. And why won’t people drop in to her house if they knew that they could stay and eat for free?

She started getting angry with her family back home. Why did they have to marry her off to Delhi? That too with a man who didn’t earn that much! And now that they have married her off, why can’t they leave her to that dissatisfied life? One cannot live both the town and the city, can they? Why would they care? They just handed her address to every tom, dick and harry, and she’s the one who had to put up with the consequences! Most of her guests were from her hometown, her husband said such mean things to her that…

Her eyes brimmed with tears. She remembered her time at her parents’ house, she recalled that house in particular, a home that smiled in welcoming its guests… a home that appeased its guests through food and attention… a place of warm hospitality… a home ringing with the laughter of friends and family! Not a single day passed when her father or elder brother didn’t bring an acquaintance to have food with them. And the guests wouldn’t tire of lauding the tasty food simmered in kind hospitality. There was no one to keep tabs on the amount of tea drunk or snacks cooked. Her sister-in-law would prepare poha on the wok and it would disappear in the blink of an eye. The neighbours and renters shared the space in a way that they would seem a part of that family.

She stared at the damp and dirty wall of the parking space. A filthy channel ran behind the apartment building whose foul-smelling waters soaked through the walls throughout the year.

How happy her friends and family were when they heard that her marriage was arranged with someone from Delhi! They would talk about their requirements and obligations in visiting Delhi and discuss about staying at her future in-laws’ house. And she would extend warm invitations to everyone, urging everyone to visit her! Please come! Yes, everyone come!

A megacity, an employed husband, all the convenience of a nuclear family, the freedom of it, she had come to this place spinning so many golden dreams!

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Arora descending the stairs, an aged, bulky, dark-skinned woman, whose habit of disclosing everyone’s personal matters had earned her the moniker ‘local news channel’, known to everyone knew aside from her,

“Arre Rachna! What’s wrong? Why are you standing in that corner behind the car?”

“N…nothing, Nothing’s wrong. I…erm… I’m looking for the caretaker of this building.”

“Why? Do you need him for anything?”

“Yes, I do have, but I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Huh, how will you see that rascal? He must still be hungover from last night. The scoundrel must still be sleeping in his room. He was drunk and screaming at his wife at one at night, and I can’t tell you things he was saying! I have asked my husband to summon a meeting of the society this Sunday and get rid of him. If the people of the society want to employ a guard, they should keep someone well-behaved. I know someone appropriate. He is a good man. Not a single bad habit. The simple man doesn’t even have supari, and his wife is so nice! She works very tidily. And if she stays here, I’d immediately employ her as my maid. Where does one get good maids now-a-days? And we cannot do without a maid even a single day, can we? However, you do all your housework yourself, don’t you? Well, it’s such a small flat anyway, how much work will you have?”

The mistress of the MIG flat was sarcastically belittling the mistress of an LIG flat.

Rachna felt bad. She had an impulse to turn and say something nasty, but her head couldn’t usually conjure quick replies in such situations. She would probably never be able to alter the small-town blood coursing through her veins.

Thank God! Mr. Arora came, and she left; but how long could she evade the eyes of those passing through the parking lot? No, she shouldn’t stand here any longer otherwise others would think that she spent her entire morning here in the parking lot to avoid her guests standing in front of her flat! But what could she do? Whose house could she go and sit in? Rachna couldn’t recall the name of a single familiar face from her evening walks whose house would welcome her in at that point. She felt foolish again.

Fine, if she was foolish, so be it! Yet again she decided based on what her soul asked her to do. Regardless of her husband’s ire, the impact on her budget, the excessive workload and the many garlands of lack and want, hiding which embarrassed her, she decided to welcome her guests. She came out of the building. She bought bread, eggs and besan from the grocers on credit.

Rachna began climbing the stairs with shaking legs and a racing heart. She saw Sunil Bhaiya descending the steps with his family.

“Arre Sunil Bhaiya, Sudha Bhabhi, Chintu-Pinku! When did you come? And where are you going?” She asked, summoning whole-hearted affection and surprise on her face.

“We had come for a wedding here. We thought we’d meet you on our way back. We have been waiting in front of your flat for an hour and a half. Where were you off to so early in the morning?”

“What can I say Sunil Bhaiya? The shops in the colony don’t store quality products. I usually take a taxi to the nearby market to purchase bread and eggs. Why are you people standing here? Please come home!”

“No, no Racchu! It’s almost time for our train. If we miss it, God knows when we’ll get another one. We need to get back today itself.”

“What is this you’re saying? You’ve come to your young sister’s home for the first time. at least have some tea before you leave. I won’t let you people leave this way.” She sounded like the small-town Racchu again.

“Let it go this time, dear. We’re getting late. We’ll stay for a day or two the next time we’re here.”

Sudha Bhabhi kept a fifty-rupee note in her hand and touched her feet. Bidding a tearful goodbye to her guests, Rachna unlocked the door to her LIG flat. She had the fifty-rupee note in her hand about which she wouldn’t breathe a word to her husband.

Author and Translator Bio-notes:

Indira Dangi (b. 1980) is a well-known novelist, storyteller, and dramatist of Hindi literature. She has published four novels and more than fifty short stories in Hindi in the ten years of her writing career. She won India’s prestigious Sahitya AkademiYuwa Award 2015 for her short story collection Ek Sou Pachas Prem Kahaniyan. She has also won nine other prestigious awards in India. Her works of fiction have been translated into Nepali, English, and other Indian languages.

Rituparna Mukherjee teaches English and Communication Studies at Jogamaya Devi College, Kolkata. She enjoys writing short fiction and flashes. A multilingual translator, translating Bengali and Hindi fiction into English, her work has been published in many international journals. Her debut translation, The One-Legged, translated from Sakyajit Bhattacharya’s Ekanore, has been shortlisted for the JCB Prize in Literature 2024.